My Someday Funeral

If you happen to know me and love me, do not panic.
I am hale and hearty. As I often tell my children, I plan on living to the age of ninety. Ninety is a good number. If I get there and things are going well, maybe I'll hang on a few more years.

Guess what? I don't get to decide. The Lord knows the number of our days.

Oh that is such solace!

But I'll tell you this: we have had too many funerals this year. At each one, I wondered: would the person have liked their own funeral? I know these ceremonies are for those who mourn.

 And yet. The funeral should be a tribute, a lovely frame to show the beauty of a life.

I have warned my kids - if you don't sing hymns at my funeral, I will sit up in my casket and shake my fist at you.

Not to scare them or anything. I just feel very strongly about hymns.

So kids, here are the details.  For one, because I doubt I'll be looking very pretty at ninety, it's closed casket. You heard it here. With just a few pictures of me - one or two as a child and young woman, one current. Oh thank Jesus that He knows exactly what "current" will be!

Not too many flowers. I love pink roses, but otherwise, I prefer fresh flowers from the garden (if anything is blooming).. I'd rather you donate any gifts to whatever missionaries I'm supporting at the time. If you aren't sure where to donate, Wycliffe Bible Translators is a good choice. Also, maybe set up a small fund to help Northwestern students pay off their parking violations. Not kidding. Those poor kids get slammed with too many fees.

Then, guys, I don't want a lot of talking or tributes or long sermons. Tell me now how much you love me. Tell me now what I've done right or wrong, and what needs forgiving, and what has been forgiven. Tell me now what you remember about the way I raised you to love God and His Word. And if I didn't do that enough, tell me that too. Remember that your Dad and I are raising your baby brother, we have a bit of a chance for a do-over.

So, short sermon it is.. By someone who knows me, so probably not an Open Door pastor, as much as I love the teaching there. Mike McCabe, if he outlives me. Or one of you, if you feel up to it.

I have a lot of favorite verses, but my life verse has always been Psalm 16:11, "Thou wilt show me the path of life, in Thy presence is fullness of joy; at Thy right hand are pleasures forevermore." Otherwise, pick whatever you like. Scripture abounds with words of life and victory.

And after the very short "talk," not too preachy, a hymn sing. 

Yep, all hymns. For quite awhile, since I have so many favorites, so you'll need a good song leader. Amanda Ellison will probably still have the voice of an angel so she can do it. Or Falicia if she's not too famous by then. You know how I adore folk and bluegrass. So that vibe would be better than pointlessly loud. But - whatever you decide is fine. Basically this is my only chance to pick the worship songs at a service, something I've longed to do. And although right now I'd choose a few current songs, what I love best, deep in my soul, are the rich words and melodies of older hymns. The truth in them has been bedrock for me. 

Here's a list off the top of my head. I might tweak it later.

How Firm a Foundation
Oh For a Thousand Tongues to Sing
How Great Thou Art
All Creatures of Our God and King
Come Thou Fount

If people are getting bored,  you can call it a day.

Otherwise, you can continue with:

It Is Well with My Soul
Be Thou My Vision
Blessed Assurance

I'm sure I'll think of more later.

A hymn sing by a lake would be perfect.
A final hymn, family only, at the grave site would also be nice.

A few more details:
Bury me and Dad together
I used to like the idea of cremation, but now I'm not sure. Jesus wasn't cremated. So if funds allow, let me return to dust the old-fashioned way.

And finally, be sad, be as sad as you want to be. Jesus was sad when his friend died. We aren't made to die, although we are born to die. We are made to live. And I plan to live a long, long time yet, probably annoying you and blessing you and serving you and needing you, for as many years as God wills.

I love you all to pieces.
(But I'm serious about the hymns).


Mama   

This is the song I've been singing most these days. The words are sound and true, the melody is fresh and lovely. C'mon and sing along with me! 

Perfect Little Bowls

I now have two of these vintage Pyrex mixing bowls.
They are just right for making Oatmeal Crepes every morning.
Ah breakfast, every morning we welcome you.

Find the recipe here.

One Week in May

I often wake up between four and five o'clock in the morning,
just as the birds are beginning their mad welcome of the day.
Somewhere high in the treetops,
fragile choristers gather in the dark,
and upon mutual agreement,
burst into song.

"Spring's a feast!
Come and see!
You won't believe!"

Up and down the high scale,
from the farthest reaches of the poplar loft,
they give voice to the new day,
as if green glowing leaves
and scudding clouds
finally decided to pour forth praise.   

This week, we had a little birthday party for my dad.
It turned out to be a fantastic day, 
where the family and the weather and the guest of honor
and the tales and the songs and the food 
all cooperated in a lovely harmony.
My dad is famous for his stories and jokes.
Here's one story. 
He had just met his future father-in-law, my Grampa Ericson.
Grampa was Swedish, a gifted engineer and carpenter,
known for taking great care of his possessions.
"See that car?" my dad asked my Grampa.
"That's my fourteenth car."
My Grampa got a sick look on his face.
At the time he had owned maybe three cars in his entire life.      

To get ready for my dad's party,
I needed a lot of help.
Isaac washed the windows, with Malachi assisting.
Malachi absolutely loved the entire window-washing operation.
At one point, while Isaac was painstakingly cleaning our French doors,
his baby brother took the squeegee and, using the same motions,
attempted to clean the dishwasher.
It's what he could reach.  

Caleb changed the dressing on his father's knee,
since I'm a wimp about things like that.

My girls helped with yard work and with Malachi. 

All the kids worked out a skit about my dad's life,
with Anna Kate on piano and Julia narrating.
The girls practiced to time the music with the script,
but didn't account for the howls of laughter from their appreciative audience.
The first "actor" was Malachi, representing Baby Jim.
He even wore the same tiny jacket my dad wore as a toddler.

The next two actors were Caleb and Krista,
portraying Jim and Carole at the University of Minnesota.
(cue music: The Minnesota Rouser)

Finally, as Julia narrated the storyline about my dad and mom serving in the jungles of Peru,
Isaac bounded onto the lawn, wielding a machete.
Since Isaac is the grandson who most resembles my dad, 
he made a convincing and appropriately epic "Jim."   

When I was in college, my roommates used to sometimes find me in a "Peru" frame of mind.
"Uh-oh," they would say. "It's a Peru day."
(The glaring clue: I would be sitting on my llama rug, looking at old pictures).

Well, this entire week has been one long "Peru day."
From hearing about how my parents decided to serve with Wycliffe Bible Translators,
to seeing old pictures of them on the river and with me and my sisters, 
to reading two jungle-themed books back-to-back,
I am awash in gratitude,
replete with memories,
thankful to the brim that I had a mom and dad who willingly left the beaten path.

My dad's life verse:
"Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." (I Cor. 15:58)

What I just read:
When I Fell From the Sky by Juliane Koepcke, a memoir from the only survivor of the LANSA crash.
What I'm reading now:
Into the Glory by Jamie Buckingham, true stories of jungle aviation.



 

How to Cut up a Watermelon, Redux

 With my dad on his birthday

Happy Birthday to my wonderful, adventurous, encouraging dad.

In honor of his day, I'm re-posting one of his favorite movies. It's called "How to Cut up a Watermelon." I kid you not, my dad has probably watched it a few dozen times.

This Monday, remembering our soldiers past and present, we will gather on Memorial Day. And we will most likely eat watermelon. Here's my fave way to serve it.

You can watch the clip here.

In the video, I have the slices on a small tray. But I almost always use this vintage baking pan for watermelon. It holds a lot, looks cute, and is easy to carry onto the patio.